


Wandering

by fiddleogold_againstyoursoul



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul/pseuds/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you know, maybe, just maybe, the person you've been searching for is sitting somewhere close to you? What if they're a part of you you didn't know you were missing?<br/>What if you were a part of two severed body parts, and were unknowingly searching for your other half?<br/>What if they don't want to come back?<br/>OR<br/>When Midorima, renowned poet and musician, finds an unlikely companion in his ex's client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering

**Author's Note:**

> TRUE! --nervous --very nervous I had been and am; but why must you say I am mad?  
> -THE TELLTALE HEART,  
> Edgar Allan Poe
> 
> A dullahan, a headless horseman whom carries his head under his arm.  
> What if he lost it?

It was a glaring afternoon, the heat unbearable, streaking perspiration down both men's brows. It was as if Helios himself had decided to wreak havoc on humankind. 

"For the last time, Akashi; I'm a poet and a musician, not a fellow psychiatrist, please refrain from asking me to help you with your patients." 

Despite the humidity, there was a still graceful air with which Midorima Shintarou drew himself up; green eyes glimmering behind spectacles. 

It was needless to say that Akashi Seijurou possessed that air too, and never needed to try flaunting it, for he had been born of it. Another thing he'd been born with was stubborn persistence, and he displayed that trait now as he pulled out a folder from his briefcase...ever present...and pushed it over to Midorima. 

"Shintarou, please. This time's different. This man, he's not crazy, he's lost."

Akashi's amber, almost crimson eyes, were firmly set, and there was no doubt in them; which piqued Midorima's interest. 

"What do you mean?"

A smile formed on Akashi's face when he saw the renewed interest kindle in Midorima's eyes. "He's not senile. His mind is simply gone." With that addling explanation, he leaned back into the wooden chair Midorima had pulled out upon seeing his unexpected guest, resting his hands on his lap as if he'd unearthed the answers to a million dollar question. 

Midorima raised an eyebrow. 

"Look up what senile means."

"Shintarou! Listen!" Suddenly colour sprang into Akashi's normally ivory dusted cheeks; he slapped a ringed hand on the table exasperatedly. "This man is not crazy! He doesn't talk, doesn't respond to normal stimuli...but he can talk, he can feel if he wants to! He was a genius."

"Never heard of a genius whom entered an asylum," Midorima realised his mistake and bit his tongue, but Akashi shook his head, smiling at his slip. 

"I said he was a genius. Till his entire family died. His sister died." 

Midorima's heart clenched. 

"His sister." 

Akashi smiled painfully. "I'm sorry that it hits so close to home, Shintarou. But wasn't the loss of your family the reason you gave up on being a doctor, and pursued the arts?"

Midorima flashed back to the day he'd returned to see his house in flames, fire licking away at its walls while firemen strived their hardest to put it out. 

The smell of sulphur. Of rotting, burning flesh. Of blood roasting to the fire. 

"That was also why you broke up with me." The way Akashi said it, now, made it seem as if he no longer cared. They'd been lovers before, true, not real lovers who loved each other, but Midorima had seen Akashi as a solace. 

Fat lot of good that solace had been in his days of mourning. 

"I'm not still hung up on that, if that's what you're thinking, Shintarou. I have Kouki. And Kouki is everything to me." 

Ah, yes, Furihata Kouki...a quiet, always woebegone looking brunette with earnest chocolate eyes and a shy smile. Heavens knew how Akashi had gotten him into his clutches, but the man seemed happy. 

Midorima inhaled sharply. 

"I wasn't. I broke up with you because I wanted to. And I'm done talking of it. More important is what you're asking for. What's his name?" Midorima was sick to the stomach, thinking of that day. The smoke had curled around the charred bodies, eyes glazed over in painful death. 

He wondered how the man had lost his family. And if he'd been as emotionally scarred by it as Midorima had. 

Akashi's eyes were hard. 

"Takao. His name's Takao Kazunari."

•

Nyx took over her daughter Hemera as naturally and gracefully as she had since the beginning of time; the meeting of the two streaking the sign in red, orange and pink brilliance that Midorima wondered at. 

He'd always loved sunsets, and this one was no exception, the vibrant hues reflecting in his unusually starry green eyes as he gazed out at it; playing a few notes on his piano. 

In his pursuit of inspiration in an open space, Midorima had set up his porch in a most unusual manner; a small black piano the love of his life, shrubbery and wildflowers lining the area, and the gurgle of a miniature fountain birds loved and adored. 

This brilliant idea gave him many the benefit of panoramas such as sunrises and sunsets, nights when the moon showed her full face...windy days...greatly inspiring his work. 

His fingers landed on the piano keys now, left hand playing some base notes while his right experimented with the chords, conjuring up a bewitching little melody beginners would love to play, but was too simple for performances. He shrugged the disappointment of that revelation off and played some Bach, fingers dropping and rising lightly to the beautiful tempo. 

He played for a good while before stopping, realising his forehead was beaded with sweat and fingers burning. He always lost himself in music, submerging in the stories the notes whispered and tearing himself away from the bleak reality of the world. 

Lost...

"His name was Takao Kazunari." 

The name somehow sounded eerily familiar. 

Midorima opened the file that he'd set on the piano top and pulled out some personal information on the man.

His student yearbook photograph, a silly photo every graduate would try to pull off but seldom succeeded at. 

His blood type, his birthday date. His horoscope. 

A book report he'd done when he'd been eleven, brimming over with the halcyon spirits of youth. 

Later, in his college years, a grinning teenager in a fast food chain uniform, looking less churlish but still attaining that glow in his steel grey eyes. 

And then...

A newspaper article about a car crash. The same Takao Kazunari, bleeding from his forehead, eyes open wide as if in shock.  
Reporters crowded around his hospital bedside, photos of the accident plastered over the page. "CAR ACCIDENT LEAVES 20-YEAR-OLD AN ORPHAN" was the headline.

For some reason, the look in Takao's eyes was daunting, blank nothingness seeming altogether too familiar for Midorima's liking.

A shudder passed through him when he realised why exactly the look on Takao's face was so haunting, so scarily familiar. He'd worn that same look when he had driven down to the fire scene and looked upon the burnt shell of what had been his house. 

A photo dropped from the folder now, one of a smiling girl of about seventeen. Takao Aimi, her name was written on the back in small, scrawly handwriting. 

Takao Kazunari's sister. 

Pain stabbed at his heart. 

He'd lost his own beloved sister, Midorima Hinata at the same tender age.

He picked up his cellphone and hit the speed dial...ever since his breakup with Akashi, he'd forgotten to take his number off...the redhead's ringtone blurting into his ear. 

"Hello, Akashi? About that request..."

• • •

Morning, a morning like every other, when Helios smiled at everyone so vaguely he wouldn't fill a paragraph in one of Midorima's poems. 

Said man was already up, dressed in a sweater that fit snugly on his broad frame, black pants that outlined his slender shape; he sat at his beloved piano and made it sing beautifully, notes that were real ear candy. 

He finished warming up with his scales and turned to look at a bird splashing around in the miniature fountain, cooing delightedly as it soaked its wings in the cold water.

Midorima closed his eyes and played, fingers running over the keys...soft twinkling notes that made for another piece he'd never play in public for its roughly shaven edges, its roguish beauty. 

Pieces like that could not satisfy the critics of the mercenary outside world, they served as leisure spenders and means to waste away the day instead. 

Not that Midorima minded. 

Ding dong. 

He opened his eyes, momentarily startled out of his reverie, and stood upon hearing the doorbell. Grumpily. He was always moody when someone snapped him out of a trance. 

The doorbell rang again. 

"Coming."

He disguised his irritation as he opened the front door...opening it to see a familiar stranger.

Now, normally those two words weren't exactly meant to be together, but Takao Kazunari was an exception to all odds, and he proved it so...dressed in white, a velvet handkerchief peeking above his breast pocket. 

Midorima reeled backwards. 

"I am Takao Kazunari," A smooth white palm was extended towards him, and Takao said nothing else as Midorima took his warm fingers gingerly. 

"You can talk." And you don't look as if you're crazy, Midorima also thought, but didn't say. 

"Mm." 

Suddenly there was nothing but blankness in Takao's grey eyes, still silver orbs of nothingness. 

He's not senile. His mind is simply gone. 

"I'm...Midorima Shintarou." Midorima opened the door and let the man step in. Even so, he realised Takao wasn't a normal person. He didn't look around him like a normal, curious human would, didn't see anything, stiffly staring ahead as if he was blind. 

His pupils, dilated already to the sunlight, didn't return to normal. Still, there was a stubborn way he set his chin, a distinct hold that made him seem very much human. 

And that was his first meeting with Takao Kazunari. 

The second one came, then the third. 

Takao would come to Midorima's and sit there blankly on the couch, only occasionally snapping out of his dreamlike trance, life flickering back into his grey eyes. 

When he ever did do that, his eyes were beautiful, orbs of flickering light, an intensity so hot in them that Midorima couldn't always meet them directly. 

He answered some of Midorima's questions but generally ignored him, closing his long lashed eyelids as if in slumber. 

When it was time for him to go, he excused himself just as blankly and simply walked out. 

Midorima wondered every time if he would come back. Some part of him, some unknown part, feared he wouldn't. 

Yet Takao always did, day after day, week after week. He became used to Takao's blank stare, his sudden revertions back into his normal self. Because it seemed fine to him. 

He wasn't senile. He just didn't have a reason to be sane. He was lost. 

One day, when Midorima was sitting opposite from Takao on the couch, both of them sipping at tea, Takao seemed to return to himself. His eyes flashed a little annoyedly. 

"You can leave to do your own stuff, you know. I won't start destroying brick walls or burning your house." 

The way he said it was as if he was offended that Midorima felt the need to place him under supervision, like an indignant child after having been chastised for no plausible reason. Midorima felt a rush of amusement and surprised himself when he nearly laughed...a true rare occurence those days. 

''I'm sorry.''

Takao made no reply as he left the room.

Truth be told, Midorima was a little wary of Takao...not to the point he thought the raven haired man would burn down his house, surely...but he was a cautious man, and didn't wear his heart on his sleeve like most did. He was more afraid of the seemingly crazed jumble of thoughts churning in Takao Kazunari's head, threatening to well over any moment. 

His thoughts shifted as he ran his fingers down the piano keys. 

He hadn't played since Takao had started showing up almost daily, unsure if it would affect the slightly smaller man's unstable mood swings, but he longed to now. It was useless to convince or deter him from the keys of the instrument that composed his life...literally...it was his drug, his solace, his only reason to live left.

Simple base clef notes transcended into arpeggios, that into unknown chords as Midorima once again let his fingers fly freely, darting from key to key like a sparrow alighting on branches...turning into a melody lithe, a melody sweet, efferverscent and bubbly that reminded him of his halcyon childhood. 

A poem came to mind, one he'd stumbled upon absent-mindedly like a few days after he'd recovered from the trauma of losing his family, its vague yet meaningful words imprinting into his mind, burning into his memories.

'What's lost,  
I am not lost, only wandering  
A traveler of the infinite  
'Do not call me mad, I am an explorer  
Drawn to the beauty of the indefinite  
'I am drowning in memories  
A butterfly's flutter induces a whirlwind of thoughts in my head  
'It is rather beautiful, being thought mad  
For the silver notes that ghosts sing drift to my ears, my head  
'Sleep well, lost spirit  
Peacefully clasp your slender hands  
'Bloodless, pale, to be sure  
But yet alive to me, my friend  
'I am not mad! Still I insist  
If you listen closely you might hear  
'Hark! Death's crescendo  
Brought to silent ears.

There was more, but it was this particular part that made a strange moisture mist over Midorima's glasses, a thin veneer of tears pricking at his eyes unmercifully. His vision gradually grew blurry, hot tears dropping onto the piano keys, but yet he played like one in a dream, as if he could hear ghosts of his sister's merry laughter by his ears, her gentle touch on his shoulder.

His mother's quiet, subdued smile, glancing at his father like one amazed by her luck in obtaining her love, the man himself gruffly complying to his dearest's wish for almost anything. It hadn't been exactly a happy home, but Midorima had loved it the more every time he'd witnessed a family broken, children turning up to school black-eyed and forcing back tears that seemed to, if let out, consume their existence with every dragged in breath of helplessness...

All to be burnt to ashes by a simple malfunction of a stove.

Midorima felt his heart give way and finally, just finally, he allowed himself to indulge in his sorrow, sobbing as if there would be no tomorrow for his already darkened eyes, tainted heart. He'd never permitted himself indulgence, self-pity before...there'd always been people watching. He was a role model, a respected musician and poet. The only way he'd managed to store the pain was to bottle it up behind a frown, a tough veneer, sending rogues around scuttling for cover. 

That was him now, and his heart was as hard as stone.

He no longer believed in love, doubtful that he ever had. Akashi had been amusing himself with him, bitter stolen kisses on winter nights that had made Midorima's heart pound by the second, foolishly false murmurs of affection as he broke Midorima's heart for the first time in the latter's existence. Midorima had used him, too. He'd used his parents' and sister's death to finally escape that poisonous position, slowly killing him.

He heard someone's breath hitch behind him and fingers stopped, blood chilling as he turned slightly to see Takao Kazunari, his silver eyes somehow just as damp, but there was something in them, something that made Midorima's blood boil.

Pity. Or was it confused recognition, deja vu?

''It's time for me to leave,'' He announced flatly, and anyone else would've mistaken it for his normal nonchalance, but the serious light in his eyes told Midorima otherwise. ''Thank you for...''

''How long have you been standing there?''

Takao's eyes dulled, and he shrugged. ''Long enough.'' That said, he turned and left.

Midorima almost allowed himself to believe that the next day, he wouldn't come back. Yet part of him wanted him to, yearned for some sort of twisted companionship in his mundane, meaningless existence. 

The next day, Takao showed up in a pressed suit, hair combed to perfection save for a single stubborn black strand that fell past his right eye. He seemed to make a point of his past prestigiousness, for he always dressed to impress and proffered his greetings and farewells in a gentlemanly manner.

Midorima realised now that it was to impress upon him his still intact sanity, and made no other attempt to classify the man otherwise.

Takao didn't mention the day before, and Midorima didn't either. He granted the man entry and slipped into the backyard, where his adored and revered piano was standing in wait. Again and again. Forever.

It suddenly became a routine, Takao wandering over his house while Midorima played the piano or worked out drafts for his poetry.

He still cried when playing, and Takao still found him like that, still making no comment on it as he excused himself when the sky grew dim. Midorima still didn't make any attempt to know the man better, and Takao didn't show any interest in him either. The relationship between them was strangely calming, meeting and parting silently, staying apart and not clashing...'the well water not clashing with the river' quoteth. 

It was strange, hardly explainable, but Midorima was grateful for it somehow. 

He didn't need someone to kiss him fiercely and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. He didn't need someone who draped a scarf around his neck and was the first to greet him every morning. He wasn't in need of any of that drivel young people called love. 

Takao developed a habit of standing behind Midorima while the man was playing, and surprisingly the latter didn't mind. They shared a sort of silent mutuality, some unspoken tryst that both acknowledged though seldom reflected on, and gradually physical contact between them increased; Takao beginning to place a hand on Midorima's shoulder when he started drifting away, the green haired man himself lightly tapping the black haired one when it was his time to go.

Yet it was nothing but trust, innocent friendship between two hearts already hardened by the world. 

Nothing more than two souls caught up in the rush of the world and cast into the shadows, lost forever to the rest of it.

Takao's moods came and went, Midorima was surprised to discover he became quite used to the drastic change, when the intelligence in them was taken over by something like fearful confusion. It was him then whom lent his strength, sitting quietly by Takao until he regained his sensibility. 

''Midorima-kun,'' Takao asked one day, when both were seated on wooden chairs, looking at a brilliant sunset. ''What is your full name again?''

Midorima wasn't surprised he didn't know. He told him, and the ghost of a smile passed Takao's peach dusted lips. 

''Midorima Shintarou...Shin-chan, then?''

Midorima turned to him, but he didn't protest. He vaguely heard, in the back of his mind, when his sister had lisped those very two words out as a nickname for her own very beloved brother. ''Shin-chan.'' It echoed through his thoughts. ''I prefer calling you Takao. If you don't mind.'' 

''Of course you would.'' Takao glanced at the last streak of crimson in the sky and stood, a flower petal falling off his trousers. There'd been a shower of falling flowers, pink and white like early season sakura, outside, and the petals had clung to Takao's raven hair like an accessory. ''Now then. Goodbye.'' 

Midorima bade him farewell and stared after his disappearing figure, feeling the warmth of his side where Takao had chosen to sit be replaced by a cool numbness. A cool familiar numbness. 

The human heart was its own series of traps, and Midorima thought angrily as he touched the hot flush on his cheeks, he'd fallen into one yet again.

He started shying away from Takao, scooting to one side and keeping his distance when they exchanged looks, making sure his was well guarded. 

Occasionally, Midorima found a flash of disappointment or irritation in Takao's eyes when he refused to let the man see into his own, the sag of his shoulders and sudden drop of his tone when he spoke, but dismissed it as mere annoyance at being ignored. He was unfixable, most unlike Takao, and he didn't want to admit it to the man...secretly Midorima admired him, for under the falsehood of his senility, he could do anything and no one would look twice at him. It wasn't so easy for the musician and poet, who'd only recently established a name for himself with the poem entitled,'Steel Wings' that had featured widely in the world of literature.

Akashi phoned him up sometimes, asking how Takao was...sometimes, Midorima could hear a timid voice in the background, most probably belonging to Furihata Kouki...or how Midorima himself was doing. Their relationship was not unnatural or forced as some broken up couples' was, and Midorima was grateful and somewhat surprised by what a brick he found Akashi Seijurou in certain circumstances.

One day, Takao showed up two hours later than usual, hair disheveled and usually impeccable suit stained by dirt. He was bleeding from his lower lip, which looked paler than its usual pink stained peach colour. 

''What happened?!''

Takao managed a small smile, and shrugged. ''I ran into some old...eh, friends. I was a delinquent some way back, and let's just say didn't make many good connections.'' He licked at his cut lip and Midorima rushed to get a glass of water for him, guiding him as if he was a lame man to the sofa.

''I'm fine.'' 

Takao accepted the glass of water a tad wearily and drank thirstily from it. He suddenly looked hollowed and wild, like a wolf, sharp features standing out more than ever. Midorima was uneasily aware of his abnormal loll of exhaustion, the almost pained way he moved any single muscle. Takao had once been a delinquent? How had he not been aware?...but he'd never really gotten to know the smaller man, so...Still, it seemed so far from what Midorima has thought Takao.

''Shin-chan, can you play me a song?''

It wasn't unusual to hear that coming from Takao. Since the day they'd really gotten to talk, Takao had asked him for it, and he'd never once turned him down, playing Beethoven, Mozart...still, Takao had never seemed as awed as he was whenever Midorima played one of his own pieces. Gone were the days when Midorima got irritated whenever someone did the cliche ''Oh you can play the piano? Can you play for me sometime?'' that most child pianists abhorred, dismissing themselves with a cordial nod.

''I played you one yesterday.''

''Yeah, but...'' Takao didn't finish. He leaned back into the chair and silently shut his eyes, a tranquil expression coming across his being. Midorima watched him as if in a reverie, until he felt his stare inappropriate and pulled his gaze away, elsewhere.

Sometimes, even though he'd grown accustomed to Takao's odd trances, Midorima got nervous whenever one came. He really didn't know how to react, or if to react at all. That was perhaps one of the few misgivings he had about being in Takao's company.

He'd gotten better at concealing his occasional flush when Takao smiled or tried to, the crazy skip of his heart when the raven haired man spoke, anything he said, was like music to Midorima's ears.

The piano became less of an allure next to Takao, which was absurd, Midorima tried to convince himself. The piano had always been his top priority. He'd never let anyone touch it roughly, put odd trinkets on it like Akashi had once had, even dust it. It was beautiful, his first love, his destiny, and Midorima adored it a tad obsessively. 

Yet...

Why...

Did Takao seem...every day, more like an accompaniment for it?

His greetings and farewells, the former always smiling and the latter a little sorrowful, the silver shine to his grey eyes and the sheen of black to his hair, suddenly, Midorima found himself dreaming of those little things.

Again, it was absolutely ridiculous.

He was a dreamer lost in visions, a seer lost in mirages, a slave to his thoughts and mind that threatened to sprout wings and fly free...dangerous, unstable, teetering on the edge of oblivion. It wouldn't be fair in the slightest if he jeopardised the few scraps that was left of Takao's sanity.

And suddenly he was awfully defensive of his mental state, building walls around his fragile, already cracked but lacquered once again glass heart that he knew could be broken so easily again, started making less small talk with Takao, not even looking at him at times for fear his eyes would betray the fragility of his soul.

Takao never dug further into his mind than Midorima let, he was content with knowing fragments about the man like his obsession with his fingers, his reluctance to leave his house and how bad of a cook he was...learnt rather mirthfully when Midorima had burnt a simple omelette...but secretly he wondered about the man and longed to know him better, as he was a thieving soul and yearned for some sort of trust, some sort of friendship again.

''This is the man I want you to see,'' Akashi Sejiurou had told him, passing over a picture and his phone number....of which Takao had no use, not being in possession of a telephone or a cellphone...on the day he had told him that he wished Midorima to be some sort of companionship for Takao. 

Takao remembered surprise as he saw the unusual green shade of Midorima's hair...he'd never seen a musician with such an odd hair colour before. Akashi had given him a small smile, his amber eyes glimmering with something Takao couldn't quite read. 

''His name is Midorima Shintarou. He's quite a rare type of human indeed.''

Takao had come to the conclusion himself, after spending so much time around the green-haired bespectacled man. Midorima was reserved, casual in his choice of clothing...a sweater if it got cold, or a simple tee pulled on and jeans or trousers...he was deft to respond, unused to people, and there was something quite strange about the man, the way he hid his eyes as if concealing a deeper burst of emotion, the sudden pales he gave as if remembering something...the way sometimes, when he played the piano, he'd bend over, body wreaked by helpless sobs.

Midorima was a being like Takao, mind unstable, hovering between the recesses of insanity and abnormality; he was introverted and disliked other noisy, annoying company. Yet what was amusing was how much he strived to hide it...as if Takao hadn't already known.

Still Takao chose to humour the man, alertly dropping his gaze when Midorima pulled his away. He didn't understand what was it that had made Midorima into a being like himself...the loss of something dear to heart?...he wondered, but never asked, because curiosity had killed the cat and as far as he knew, he wasn't a cat. He played Midorima's little mind games, becoming aware of the sudden fondness Takao held of the man himself and distrusting himself further...why?

Because Takao was bored, and had nothing left to do with his existence.

That was another thing they had in common, he supposed.

Takao started dressing more casually, ditching his ties and pressed shirts for polo tees and jumpers like a normal person would wear, a normal man of his age. He stopped acting so proper and dropped his guard, allowing Midorima a glimpse of the person he might've been if he hadn't lost his family, hadn't hit rock bottom. 

They spoke less and less, sometimes only sitting side by side, engulfed in silence. Somehow it felt better, felt safer. Takao's slips back down into memory lane lessened, Midorima's tears did as well. They reached for each other mentally, in a way both appreciated more than meaningless promptings. Their thoughts slurred together, they saw deeper into each the recesses of each other's minds but shallower. 

What did that mean?

Takao broke past Midorima's glass walls of security.

Midorima found peace hidden in a corner of Takao no one else could see.

But at the end of the day, they were still two spirits lost...yearning for each other and not knowing it fully, drowning in each other but wanting to sink deeper. They were too confused to reach out for each other, too blinded to see the obvious truth. Phantoms danced in their dreams, ghosts sang them to sleep but the very last thing they thought of at the end of every day was each other.

Just the two of them, stranger to each other, alone in their world of lost stories and whispers of ghost winds.

''Sei,'' Furihata Kouki dared to question one day when he tucked his knees into his chest and cuddled closer to the redhead. ''Who is Midorima Shintarou?''

Akashi's smile was sad but tender, remembering soft kisses and light flushes that had paled into an unmistakable gauntness. 

''He is a headless horseman.''

''What? What does that mean?'' 

Akashi sighed and drew his love closer into his chest. ''He's a dullahan, so to speak, a headless horseman who carries his severed head under his arm. Now, love, what happens when a dullahan loses his head?''

Furihata stared at his partner. Akashi was mysterious, he often evaded personal queries by entering a world Furi didn't quite understand. He longed to share his beloved Sei's world, share his intelligence and quiet humour that served its purpose when he quipped inside jokes and nibbled at Furi's ears. 

''He...he becomes disoriented?''

''Mm.'' Akashi rewarded him with a winning smile. ''And what of the head?''

It wasn't a question he expected Furihata to understand or answer accurately, but the brunette made his guess right on the mark. ''It...it's also missing its body? Will it look for it?''

''Oh, it'll look,'' Akashi said quietly. ''And so will the body itself, but what if they're both deformed in some way? The head's gone to senility and is stark raving mad, and the body is scarred emotionally and pride wounded. That's the beauty of it, Kouki!'' He threw back his head and laughed, but a tear slipped down his cheek.  
''That's the beauty, it's a twisted love story, even if they cross paths, they won't know each other! Because they're so intent on remembering, so lost in their wanderings, that their memories are jumbled, they won't expect each other at all! How sickeningly beautiful, a tragedy many would adore!''

''I don't know how this has any connections with Midorima Shintarou, Sei, but I'll let it slide.''

A dullahan, a wandering dullahan, one being separated into two.

Perhaps the idea was absurd.  
After all, which head wouldn't recognise its body on sight?  
Didn't they share the same experiences, same memories?

What if the memories were damaged in some way, altered so they were as different as the sky and sea? What if their identities had also changed when the body had released the head, rolling off into infinity?

Midorima stirred to life when he felt a gentle hand squeeze his shoulder.

He opened his eyes to see Takao smiling softly at him. He couldn't quite explain how warm Takao's touch was...so intensely belonging on his person. Why did it belong?

''It's time for me to go,'' Takao murmured, and Midorima felt something settle in his heart. He didn't really want Takao to go, no, not at all. Something told him that he needed to keep Takao by his side, that he belonged with him and by him. A hot flush broke upon his cheeks as he burst out,''Don't go!''

Takao stared at him, colour flooding into his gaunt complexion. 

''Shin...chan...''

''I'm sorry,'' He stood, and his heart heaved. 

No. Don't let him go...

Takao smiled, but it was laced with tiredness. 

''Goodbye, Shin-chan.''

No, no, no...Don't let him slip away...!

Midorima watched his fading figure, heart rushing oddly fast. It wasn't fair, why was he...suddenly a gasp came to his lips and he keeled over, falling onto the steps of his house. Pain flooded his gut, his vision distorted, he dragged in long large gulps for air...

He's gone.

That goodbye in the living room was for ever. Takao Kazunari was killed instantly by a collision with a speeding vehicle. Though reports on his death were made by the dozen, none of them connected him to the man from twelve years prior whom had lost his family.

Nor did anyone take notice when the first person to kneel by his grave was a green haired musician, his eyes full of disbelief. 

The truth had come to him at last. 

The dullahan's head smiled ruefully at the end of his life as a human. He wished somehow, he'd found a way to reunite with his body, also personified, but it was too late to turn back now. He could only wait, wait for the final darkness to descend and part him from his body forever.

''A wandering dullahan,'' Akashi said as he dropped flowers onto Midorima's grave. The poet and musician had passed away from unknown circumstances at an early age, found in restfulness on the day after he'd died. Doctors couldn't pinpoint the exact time of his death, but it was hoped that he'd slipped away with his beloved sunrise, spirit drifting off to the heavens as crimson streaked the sky.

Furihata wrapped an arm around his partner's waist, feeling the unmistakable grief buried in his chest. He wondered about something, just for a moment.

''If a dullahan's head died before its body...''

''Would they still be able to reunite, you mean?'' Akashi's eyes glowed crimson, he lifted his head and studied the passing clouds quietly. ''I'm not quite sure. You know, I think all of us are segments of dullahans. We're the heads or the bodies, searching for our other halves till the day we die, but some of us don't unite quite so easily, eh?'' He pressed a kiss onto Furi's soft brown locks, pulling the man deeper into the folds of his shirt. 

''A...am I your other half?''

''I hope not. I wouldn't want my body to be quite so daft...ow! Kouki, that hurt!''

That's the story for this dullahan, a clumsy body and dignified head that made sparks fly.

But we haven't quite finished with our first one.

Cold, shadowy fingers curled around features just as dark, features memorable and all too familiar to the dullahan's liking. The creature picked up its head carefully, fitting it onto the severed part of his neck where the skin had been cold for all too long. The muscles creaked, skin sliding into place, and the head's lips moved, curled into a smile. They moved again, parting to lisp two words that made the cold heart in the body pump with an odd fire.

What were the two words?

''Shin-chan...''

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
